


Was he married?

by the_accidental_horcrux



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Sherlock - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: #coulsonlives (Marvel), Crack Treated Seriously, Deaf Clint Barton, John Watson is a Saint, Loki (Marvel) is a Good Bro, M/M, Nick Fury is Old, Plot Bunny, Rare Pairings, sherlock does the thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 10:31:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12957324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_accidental_horcrux/pseuds/the_accidental_horcrux
Summary: Contrary to popular belief, Agent Phil Coulson was, in fact, married. When he gets himself put in the middle of an alien invasion, his husband was under no circumstances to be considered pleased. Quite the opposite, actually. He was pissed off.Possible trigger warnings for gore, temporary death, grief of losing a loved one, brief mentions of torture/implied torture.





	Was he married?

**Author's Note:**

> I was just rewatching The Avengers, and I remembered Agent Coulson talking about a cellist, and then I was thinking about Sherlock, and how he plays the violin, and then I read a whole bunch of crossovers and I couldn't find any that had this pairing in it, so I decided to write my own. I'm so sorry.
> 
> Things you should know: Tony Stark and Sherlock Holmes know each other previously, through the egotistical genius club, or whatever. Tony Stark and John Watson know each other through Afghanistan, John was in the “Humdrum-vee.” Natasha Romanoff knows Mycroft Holmes through the spy business or whatever, therefore knows Sherlock as well.

_Disclaimer: I do not own MCU or Sherlock, if I did, Johnlock would probably be canon already, and we would have had a standalone Black Widow movie already. All the italicized quotes marked with an asterisk ( * ) are direct quotes from the Avengers movie. I do not own them._

 

A stab wound through the back, it nicked the lung, went almost clean through the vena cava inferior. That was a fatal wound, and Agent Phil Coulson knew it.

Director Nick Fury was busy trying to keep his attention, but it just hurt so bad, and he just wanted it to stop. Only through his training as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent kept him from crying out in pain.

_"No, I'm clocking out here." *_

_"Not an option," *_ replied Fury, but to the dying agent, it was really the only option available. He knew he was going to go out fighting, not of old age.

Phil couldn't exactly hear himself speak, he was running out of blood, it seemed. He did say something about how, _"It was never going to work if they didn't have something," *_ and then it all went black.

 

**_PC.SH.PC.SH.PC.SH.PC.SH.PC_ **

  
_"Was he married?" *_ Steve Rogers, Captain America, asked, approaching Tony Stark, Iron Man.

 _"Well, there was a, uh… cellist, I think," *_ he shrugged, like it didn't mean much, like it didn't affect him. Violinist, actually, not that he corrected himself. His mouth and half a mind were on the task at hand, but all he had running through his conscious mind was the stupid Director, and his stupid superiority complex, and, _"They called it," *_ which was absolute bullshit because they could have kept trying. And Sherlock. His throat tightened.

 _"Sonofabitch," *_ came out of his mouth, and he had to rewind to find out what exactly they were talking about. Loki was setting up shop at his tower. Time to suit up.

 

**_PC.SH.PC.SH.PC.SH.PC.SH.PC_ **

  
Sherlock Holmes, the world's only Consulting Detective, was at his flat in London. 221B Baker Street, to be precise. He was working on a case and his flat mate, Captain John Watson, army doctor, was picking up the milk that was on their grocery list.

Having had enough for the moment, and ideas to ponder, Sherlock picked up his violin, and started playing a song he was writing. A ring on his fourth left finger, the familiar comforting weight making a small tapping noise every so often.

John of course, chose that moment to walk in.

Sherlock payed him no mind, his own getting lost in the melody. He was coming to a close when his phone rang.

 _"Sherlock?"_ came the voice on the other line.

"No, of course it wouldn't be Sherlock Holmes answering his own phone," replied the detective, snark evident in his tone.

_"It’s Tony."_

"Ah, the one with daddy issues bigger than his ego. How lovely to hear your voice," greeted Sherlock, his voice lacking its usual bite.

 _"Sherlock-"_ Tony began.

"Well, what's the bad news?" Sherlock asked impatiently.

_"How- actually, dumb question, you're Sherlock Holmes. Tell me anyway, though."_

The violinist sighed, "Quite simple, really. Tony Stark, ex-weapons manufacturer, owner of Stark Industries, genius, billionaire, self-proclaimed playboy, though is in a committed relationship with Pepper Potts, CEO of your company, also self-proclaimed philanthropist, though that is more debatably true, is infamous for his giving of nicknames. You were on the news last night in Stuttgart calling presumably the Norse God Loki, 'Reindeer Games.' Which means, when you addressed me as 'Sherlock,' it meant something went wrong, that there was bad news. And I know you, Tony, if nothing was _really_ wrong, you’d show up at the flat tomorrow and tell me it then."

_"Wow."_

"So, on with it," Sherlock sighed exasperatedly.

_"Sherlock, you were listed as the emergency contact for Phil, I didn’t expect any less, really. J.A.R.V.I.S. just gave me the medical report I can send you. I'm actually a little busy with an alien invasion, or, like you said, I'd tell you in person. Phil died this morning defending the world from Loki to his las-"_

"Spare me the details, please," Sherlock said with a detached voice, his eyes has glazed over a little.

"Sherlock, who is it?" John asked walking in, only to stop dead in his tracks upon seeing his best mate's face. "Sherlock give me the phone."

Sherlock obliged, almost too distracted to even notice.

"I'm so sorry to hear that... ... ..Yes, we'll be there... ... ... .No, I didn't... ..... .. No, last he told me, your little organization was breaking them apart... ... .." John conversed with Tony.

 _What do I know about Loki?_ he asked himself, _God, Norse origin in the myths, not of Asgardian decent, most likely a Jotun, seeing the disdain he has for his, "people," just found out recently, bigger daddy issues than Tony Stark, God of Lies and Deceit, probably speaks more truth than lie, a good tactic. Feels outshined by his big brother Thor, who was recently exiled to Earth, Midgard, for a total of three days, where Loki sent a machine to stall Thor, levelled a small town in the process. Caused Phil a lot of paperwork. Doesn't seem like he's really pulling his own strings. He's the master at disguise, he could have staged a coup, and no one would have been the wiser. The-_

He was pulled out of his mind palace by John snapping in his face. "We've got to get going."

 

**_PC.SH.PC.SH.PC.SH.PC.SH.PC_ **

 

Darkness, pain, Phil didn't know where he was, or what was going on. He didn't really remember why he felt so horrible, either.

He had told the Director that he was _"Clocking out here," *_ he couldn't remember why.

Loki, came to mind.

What? Why? he thought, but didn't really get the chance to analyze the situation before he blacked out again.

 

**_PC.SH.PC.SH.PC.SH.PC.SH.PC_ **

  
Tony Stark was poking a bear with a stick. He was at his tower, not wearing his Iron Man suit, threatening a god, for Christ's sake. Did he have a death wish? Possibly.

He wasn't really paying attention, tough. All that was going through his mind was the emotionless response he had gotten from Sherlock Holmes.

The dead, _"Spare me the details, please,"_ was the most unnerving thing he had ever heard. And he had talked to terrorists, and was currently taunting a god.

Sherlock had become unresponsive. That's what John had said on the phone. He sounded pretty pissed off as well, yelling about S.H.I.E.L.D. breaking apart the couple.

Goddamn it, Fury, he ranted to himself.

 _“You will all fall before me,” *_ Loki was saying as he threw Tony out the window.

Tony managed to get his suit on in time, and all he was thinking about was Sherlock Holmes and his broken voice.

_“And there’s one other person you’ve pissed off. His name was Phil.” *_

Loki made to attack Tony, but his rage-filled body was quicker. In one motion, he shot a blast out of his repulsor gauntlets at the god.

Then a hole opened in the sky.

 _“Right, army.” *_ he said, looking up at the floods of aliens coming from the other side of the universe.

He looked to see Thor and Loki decking it out, and got to work, evacuating the civilians.

 _“Stark, we’re heading North-East,” *_ came Natasha Romanoff’s voice over the comm. device.

_“What, did you stop for drive-thru?” *_

 

**_PC.SH.PC.SH.PC.SH.PC.SH.PC_ **

 

"Sherlock, snap out of it," John said to his unresponsive friend. “Sherlock, I understand, this is going to be hard for you, but we need to go make arrangements, and speak with the Director.”

John turned his back to grab a jumper, and his wallet, but when he turned back around, all he saw was a swooping black coat making it’s way out the door. “Sherlock!”

“Mycroft, you know what to do. Get me transportation to New York.” Sherlock was talking to the CCTV camera right outside the flat.

That in itself was worrying.

  
_**PC.SH.PC.SH.PC.SH.PC.SH.PC** _

  
_“I recognize that the council has made a decision, but given that it’s a stupid-ass decision, I’ve elected to ignore it,” *_ Fury told the council, no doubt in his voice.

Just then, Agent Maria Hill walked into the room, which should have been impossible, seeing as a meeting was in progress.

She was closely followed by a tall, lanky man with curly black hair, blue eyes, and an unreadable expression wearing a black overcoat with the collar turned up.

“And just who the hell do you think you are?” Fury asked, turning around.

“Sir, he’s-” Hill started, only to be cut off.

“This is override code Hotel-Niner-Niner-Sierra subsection Juliett-Zulu-X-ray,” rang out a clear British voice belonging to the man who had walked it. Fury’s visible eye widened ever-so-slightly, and audible gasps were heard from the council. “I demand that this nuclear strike be called off.”

“As I was saying,” Fury continued, turning back to the council pretending nothing had happened, “you are not authorized to send a nuke to the greater New York area.” He closed off the call with the councilmen.

The Director turned to the man who gave the code, “Mycroft Holmes? Last time we met, you were older and had less hair. Agent Hill, leave us.”

The Director’s second in command turned and left the room without question.

“His little brother, actually. Mykey’s not going to be very happy with me, but they needed to be stopped.

“Sherlock Holmes, you’re Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., former soldier of World War II, ex-CIA employee, your eye was damaged by a grenade, most likely because you trusted someone you shouldn’t’ve. You were very injured in battle at the end of the Second World War, and then given the Infinity Formula, plus every year since, so you claim, I doubt it, there would have been attention drawn to it at some point, and haven’t aged since.

“Your eye-patch is merely cosmetic, your eye is not missing. People have claimed to have seen you around as 1602, which should be impossible, I have my doubts about those claims but I have no proof to invalidate said claims.

“You’ve lied about something recently- no, multiple things, not surprising, given who you are. One of them, life-altering, for more than one person. You feel guilty about ruining something valuable, not only in currency, but also sentiment. Did I cover it all?” The words just didn’t stop.

Fury was concealing his shock pretty well, considering. “Sherlock Holmes, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Very observant, like I’ve been told. I can’t confirm nor deny any of your speculations. How the hell did you get in here? It’s supposed to be in total-”

“Mycroft’s security codes,” was the bored reply, with an undertone of sadness only a trained ear could hear, “I don’t suppose you want to tell me how Agent Coulson died?”

“H- I’m not even going to ask. It was Tony, wasn’t it?” Fury turned his critical eye to the man in the room. So this was the person who was distracting Coulson from his job? He couldn’t blame his agent. This man was entertaining.

“Irrelevant,” barked Sherlock, “tell me how Agent Coulson died.”

“Stab wound to the vena cava inferior, through the back.”

  
**_PC.SH.PC.SH.PC.SH.PC.SH.PC_ **

  
There was a lot of pain, and that was about it.

Phil didn’t know what to think.

He didn’t know if he could think.

Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain.

  
**_PC.SH.PC.SH.PC.SH.PC.SH.PC_ **

  
“I’m listed as Agent Coulson’s emergency contact. Why wasn’t I contacted immediately? Don’t answer that, I already know. The lie you felt guilty about. It had to do with Phil, didn’t it. Somehow you’ve completely faked his death- no, that’s not it. He really did get injured, killed even for just a moment. But he’s still alive right now, so you didn't feel it necessary to contact me until the fighting was over.”

Sherlock’s mind was racing. Phil’s not dead. Phil’s not dead! But he kept on pushing for more.

“Moreover,” he continued, “you want Phil to distance himself from me, because you think I’m a distraction to his job. You found out about me through one tiny mistake on Mycroft’s part, and it was only about six months ago. I’ve known Phil for over twenty years, but you didn't know that.

“How does it feel to know that this information has been sitting under your nose for who-knows-how-long?”

Sherlock noticed the ever-so perceptible shift in mood coming from the Director. The man was surprised, and Sherlock grinned manically. “Another thing, you have it listed that Phil and I have been in a romantic relationship for the past four months, you wanted to break it off before it got too serious, serious enough that it could be a liability.

“You’re too late for that one, as I’m sure you've guessed or noticed.”

  
**_PC.SH.PC.SH.PC.SH.PC.SH.PC_ **

  
Director Fury spared a quick glance at the younger Holmes’ left hand, not entirely surprised to find a ring sitting on his finger.

“Now, I’d like to see my husband if at all possible, which seeing as you're the director of this fine establishment, you can make it happen. Then I’d like to be taken to New York,” demanded Sherlock.

Just then, Agent Hill came racing in. _“Sir, we have a bird in motion!” *_ She then spoke into her comm. unit, _“Anyone on the deck, we have a rogue bird! We need to shut it down. Repeat: TAKE OFF NOT AUTHORIZED!” *_

Fury grabbed an air tonic RPG and shot the tail end of the jet, immobilizing it, only to realize too late that it was a decoy.

 _“Stark, you hear me?” *_ he spoke into his comm., _“We have a missile headed straight for the city.” *_

 _“How long?” *_ Stark asked back.

_“There minutes at best. Stay low and wipe out that missile.” *_

“Those bloody double-crossing bastards!” yelled the deep British voice, already running for a separate jet.

“Holmes, can you even fly that thing?” asked Hill, frowning.

“Wouldn't you like to know?” he sneered over his shoulder.

“SHERLOCK HOLMES, YOU WAIT THIS INSTANT FOR ME!” yelled a short, grey-haired man, running towards the aircraft Sherlock was occupying.

“And who the hell are you?” Fury asked, exasperatedly, getting tired of random people showing up on his helicarrier.

“Captain John Watson, sir!” he called back, reaching the jet. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s for a really good cause, and we’ll have Mycroft pay for whatever damage to the jet.”

All Fury could do as the jet flew off, was watch.

  
_**PC.SH.PC.SH.PC.SH.PC.SH.PC** _

  
Sherlock Holmes reached New York in time to see the Hulk running up a building to catch something in the air and bring it down to the ground at a slower pace.

“Who’s that?” John asked, looking out the plane’s windshield.

“The Hulk, I’m assuming, given the largeness, and the green-ness,” replied Sherlock, frowning.

He landed the jet on a street away from the Avengers, and they ran over as they headed the Hulk roaring.

 _“What the hell? What just happened? Please tell me nobody kissed me,” *_ said Tony in a worried tone, making everyone chuckle. Steve looking extremely relieved, because he didn't want his teammate hurt, of course.

 _“We won,” *_ replied Steve, a small smile gracing his face.

Finally noticing Sherlock and John run up, Tony laughs as well. “Sherlock Holmes, my favourite fellow genius. How are you holding up?” he asked, suddenly getting sombre.

“He’s not dead,” was all the response given.

“Sherlock,” John started sternly, not getting to finish.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked, looking confused.

“Guys,” Tony gestured, “this is John Watson and-”

“Sherlock Holmes, it’s good to see you again,” Natasha interrupted.

Tony looked stunned. “And-” he pointed at the two of them, then crossed his hands, pushing himself into a seated position, “you- he- you- what?”

“Natalia, how nice to see you!” John smiled, and elbowed Sherlock because he was frowning.

“Natalia, Mycroft sends his regards,” the consulting detective said, still frowning.

“Sherlock, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Natasha said, giving Sherlock a side-arm hug.

“Yeah, brainiac. He was a good man,” added Tony as Steve pulled him to standing.

The Captain still looked confused. “Sherlock who? And who did he lose?”

“Sherlock Holmes, as Natalia said, do keep up, and I didn't lose anyone,” snapped Sherlock, getting annoyed.

“Sherlock,” John said again, more softly, reaching a had towards his friend’s elbow.

“Agent Coulson was Sherlock’s husband,” clarified Tony, glancing at the Captain to gage his reaction.

“Is,” muttered Sherlock.

“I’m so sorry for your loss. Agent Coulson seemed like a good man. I’m sorry about his Captain America cards and not signing them sooner, as well.”

“Son of Coul is gone?” Thor’s confused voice softly – as surprising as it sounds – asked.

“What happened to his cards?” Sherlock asked worriedly, ignoring the thunder god’s question. “He’ll kill anyone who touched them.”

“They were in his pocket when he died, they got covered in his blood,” Steve explained.

“That’s not possible. Phil never carries around his cards anywhere. They were in mint condition. He’ll be so upset,” Sherlock rambled.

“Sherly,” Tony started, looking at the tall, British man, “Phil’s gone. Stop torturing yourself alright?”

“No, you don’t understand. Phil isn't dead. The director lied. He did it so you could have something to use to get together. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid people!” the consulting detective yelled angrily.

“What‽” collectively yelled the surrounding people, minus Natasha and Clint who were no-doubt internally screaming, but kept a professional face (though Sherlock couldn’t be sure that the archer had heard him; his hearing aids might have been damaged, as indicated by his eyes tracking people’s mouths instead of their eyes and the glances at Natalia’s hand that seem so be making symbols, probably American Sign Language, more commonly known as ASL, and the little bit of–), and the Hulk who made a surprised grunting noise.

“And, I haven’t been to see him yet, he’s still in critical condition, but we have another issue to solve.” Sherlock pointed at the Stark Tower, referring to Loki, whom he had seen being beaten up by the Hulk on the news.

  
**_PC.SH.PC.SH.PC.SH.PC.SH.PC_ **

  
Phil Coul… Coulson? Was it Coulson? Or was it something else? Was his name even Phil? He couldn't tell you either way.

Where was he? Everything was so dark, he couldn't see anything, or move.

There was something he needed to do.

Someone he needed to talk to.

Tell him… something… really important?

Or, he could just sleep. He was tired. That was a good idea.

Somewhere beyond whatever area he was in, the distant blaring of alarms were going off, but that didn't affect him.

He was going to rest.

Someone yelled, not that this man could really hear it, someone somewhere else yelled, desperately, it seemed. “We’re losing him!”

  
_**PC.SH.PC.SH.PC.SH.PC.SH.PC** _

  
Loki shook his head, the blue fading from his vision, rational thought returning once more. _What did I do?_ he asked himself worriedly.

All his memories returned at once.

He slowly started to make his way out of the hole he had been smashed into, a pounding headache from too much information at once. When he finally really took in his surroundings, he realized he was surrounded by the Avengers and two others.

_“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll take that drink now.” *_

“Can you name one reason why we shouldn’t kill you right now?” the agent he had captured, Clint Barton, asked rhetorically.

Thor, the ever-protective older brother, just about to speak up and defend Loki, was cut off.

“He’s innocent.”

 _Who?_ Loki asked himself, looking at the people pointing their weapons at him. Two of them he actually hadn't seen before, one of which had probably spoken up for him.

“What do you mean, innocent? He killed- tried to kill your husband!” The man of Iron whisper-yelled angrily.

“Are you blaming Barton for all the things being under that control made him do?” the man, the one with a rational brain, retorted, eyes going menacingly sharp as he looked at the engineer.

“Well, no of course not, it wasn't in his control. Reindeer Games put him there. Forced him with whatever mumbo-jumbo that was in his glowstick-of-destiny,” Tony Stark, as he was called, said, explaining, because the intelligent man wasn't there the whole time, he didn't have all the facts. _Mortals_ , Loki thought, distastefully.

“And yet, it wasn't really Loki, was it?” The man, still un-introduced, asked, turning his head toward the Asgardian. “You weren't in control?”

Loki, the proud being he was, despite being given this olive branch, this rope he could pull himself out of the pit with, said, “And why, pitiful mortal, would you think that?”

“Because, as I’m sure Thor could tell anyone, your eyes are green,” he began, and Loki realized just how perceptive this human was.

“Indeed,” Thor, the buffoon, chimed in, looking almost confused, but apparently willing to let the man speak of it was going to help Loki.

“And yet, looking here at you, your irises are inhumanly blue, fading quickly.” He turned to the Russian, Natasha Romanoff, the one his– Clint was so fond of talking about, “Barton’s eyes were the same colour, weren't they?” he asked.

Natasha just nodded. It was true.

“That suggests that Loki wasn't the one with the power, only a vessel of some sort, for someone who wanted to destroy the human race, and if everything failed, make Loki take the blame.”

Loki’s eyes widened slightly. This Midgardian was good. “Very perceptive, for a mortal,” Loki said, not willing to let his shields drop. He’d have to think about– Not a chance in Helheim. “What are you to be called?”

“The Amazing Detective-Slash-Genius?” Stark quipped, a smile plastered to his face, Loki wasn't sure it was quite real.

“Sherlock Holmes,” he introduced, and left it at that, “am I right?”

**Author's Note:**

> Part two is coming.


End file.
